


Fall With You

by SilverLynxx



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Melancholy, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Phillip is seriously the sweetest thing, Poverty, Sad and Sweet, and Phineas adores him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLynxx/pseuds/SilverLynxx
Summary: The words had impelled an unsettling quiet in Barnum’s mind. Phillip’s ties were well and truly cut when it came to the high-class coterie; the crowds which had once welcomed a Carlyle son, as scandalous as he was rumoured to be, now stood shoulder to shoulder to keep him cast out – his family among them. He knew that sting, recognised the achingly stark parallels in their circumstances; both suddenly alone with only uncertainty lined up before them.





	Fall With You

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is a long time overdue. It took many reassurances from unfailingly supportive friends to get to this point, because there was just _something_ about this fic I couldn't get myself to like, but I think it's now at a stage where I can accept it for what it is, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> A massive thank you to **Schizanthus** for proofreading, your input was what salvaged this fic from the depths of my WIP folder.

Darkness has long fallen by the time Barnum scores his last line of ink. His sigh is lost to the idling silence and he drops his pen onto the desk in resignation. Whatever he has written is indecipherable, a cryptic, nonsensical scrawl lost on him until at least morning, and he has absolutely no desire to reside in this office until then.

The trifling flicker from the oil lamp does little more than reassure him he’s still awake, though arguably the insistent pounding behind his eyes is a far more pressing indicator. He douses the flame, conscious of how little oil there is left to burn, and allows the late hour’s abeyance to envelop him. It’s the last quickly fading barrier of respite between himself and the onfall of tomorrow, a delicate veil of stars and darkness that will disperse with the light and leave him, exposed and weary, to once again face the trials of the regular man’s waking hours. He knows with morning will come a small army of workmen to raise the foundations of the tent, a long-awaited event by no stretch of the imagination, and not far behind them will flock a fresh array of protesters, clustered in gratuitous offense of the circus pitching itself on the fringes of their notice.

But of more concern to Barnum were the contractors, besuited sharp-smiling men turned bellicose by their outstanding fees. They would descend on him like sharks, drawn to him as if his ringmaster’s coat were a speck of blood in the water, rather than the emblem of a resurrected dream that it was. A dream, admittedly, that stood ankle-deep in a muddy plot of land, but a dream nonetheless. Regardless, he was sure he could allay them a little longer if he was tactful.

Barnum eases himself out of his chair, wincing as his back unfurls for the first time since he’d sat down that afternoon, and slips on his jacket and top hat. Cane tucked under his arm, he pauses at the threshold with his hand on the door to survey the makeshift office. The sad quality of the old desks and barely salvaged chairs are thankfully concealed in the gloom, but the piles of papers - budgets, documents, legal texts – cluttering every surface are still a grim sight.

His gaze lingers on Phillip’s desk, the relentlessly sedulous man who wouldn’t leave this place were Barnum not so insistent. It had taken the involvement of both Anne and Lettie on this occasion to convince Phillip to leave at a reasonable hour; it was the first time he’d done so in weeks, and it was long overdue.

Recalling that particularly rousing dispute with a fond smile, Barnum locks the door behind him and begins his lonesome walk home through the empty streets, the late hour too much for even the most enduring carouser or working woman. His path takes him west, away from the docks and through warehouses and factories, past the homes of business magnates and down narrower, decaying streets. The streetlamps are fewer here, the buildings old and crumbling with age and rot. Preceding his current situation, it was a place he would have never allowed Charity or his daughters, nor anyone else he cared so deeply for, to step foot in.

Sidestepping a questionable mess on the pavement, Barnum enters one of the many identical tenement buildings and climbs the stairwell to the fourth floor, the foul stench of filth and ammonia inundating his nose and throat as he ascends. His heart grows heavier with every step, until he’s finally faced with a door chipped and on the verge of warping with damp. His hand rests on the door handle, the metal cool and uncomfortably gritty beneath his palm, but he can’t quite convince himself to enter.

For a moment he ponders rallying some of his showmanship to brighten his smile and mask the evidence of his stress, the heavy slope to his shoulders and the deep creases wrinkling his forehead, but by the time he’s actually pushing the door open his weak veneer has all but fallen away. He doesn’t want to step into his home with a façade, not when there was more pressure every day to keep it in place around the circus – it was ok to be vulnerable here.

The space beyond the door, that was arguably barely a room, let alone a home, is bleak and pitiful. The single window is covered with a scrap of tarp, borrowed from the circus to keep the worst of the wind and rain from seeping through the cracked glass. A narrow wooden bedstead with a straw mattress squats in the corner. The walls are a discoloured tessellation of blackened soot and patches of mould that glisten in the deep orange glow emanating from the grate, the smouldering embers the last dwindling source of light and heat.

Despite the squalid conditions, Barnum smiles more easily when his eyes fall on Phillip, seated at a small table several feet from the fireplace with his chin cradled in his palm, reading by the miniscule light. The younger man looks up for the first time when Barnum closes the door behind him.

“You’re still awake,” Barnum notes with only a slightly chiding tone, undermined by the infusion of warmth he couldn’t hope to dispel. Phillip hums in response, marking his book before closing it and offering Barnum a small, tired smile; his blue eyes are lidded with fatigue and his actions are carried out with a degree more consideration than usual. Barnum’s chest swells with tenderly forlorn affection when he realises Phillip has been waiting up for him.

“Have you eaten?” Barnum queries, his gaze dragging over the man, noting with a slight frown the way Phillip’s shirt hangs a little looser on him these days.

“Yes, a while ago. Sit down, I put some aside for you,” Phillip commands with a stifled yawn, pushing himself up from the table and crossing to the meagre kitchen space; two counters and a sparsely stocked shelf.

Removing his hat, jacket, and waistcoat, Barnum sinks gratefully into the second chair with a deep sigh, his eyes falling closed with a blessed sense of relief. He doesn’t realise he’s almost drifted off until he’s blinking his eyes open again when Phillip places a hand on his shoulder and sets a bowl down in front of him – a modest serving of potato broth with a chunk of bread on the side, stale from the hours it had been left sitting.

“Sorry, it’s cold by now.” His tone is contrite, and Phineas catches Phillip’s hand as it leaves his shoulder, skimming his thumb over the man’s knuckles.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, eyes soft with gratitude.

Phillip offers him a slightly wider smile – it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s sweet and appreciative all the same. “I’ll go fill the basin,” Phillip answers as he pulls away.

Barnum sighs again as the front door clicks shut behind Phillip.

He turns to his meal, hungry despite the discontent that sits heavy in his stomach. As he tears his bread into smaller chunks to drop into his broth, his eyes skim over the room they had been forced into upon the ruination of the circus.

Phillip had saved him, saved them all, really, when he’d offered his profits from the show. It was only after they’d shaken hands, plotted their new future down near the docks, and started making headway with contractors that Phillip revealed to him, while squirrelled away in the back of a bar one evening, that for a second time he was giving the circus everything.

“I have nothing left, PT,” Phillip had admitted quietly, his thumb brushing the condensation from his glass. “I’m overdue on rent; I’m being evicted.”

The words had impelled an unsettling quiet in Barnum’s mind. Phillip’s ties were well and truly cut when it came to the high-class coterie; the crowds which had once welcomed a Carlyle son, as scandalous as he was rumoured to be, now stood shoulder to shoulder to keep him cast out – his family among them. He knew that sting, recognised the achingly stark parallels in their circumstances; both suddenly alone with only uncertainty lined up before them.

“We’ll work something out,” Barnum had found himself saying without thinking, his heart racing when he realised what he’d done – the complications that would surely come from making such promise. But Phillip’s expression had shifted so suddenly; Barnum would never forget the way the younger man’s composed front had crumbled to reveal a fragile relief hidden beneath it. He knew then, even if their arduous venture were to fail, he had to do right by this man if nothing else. “Everything will be fine, you trust me, don’t you?” Phineas grinned.

Phillip had simply laughed, a small but hopeful sound, and _thanked him_ , even after everything.

Dropping his spoon into the empty bowl, Phineas scrubs his face with his hand. They’d had very few options available to them; their income had been the circus. Phillip had nothing. Barnum had just enough to see him through the rebuilding – but then he suddenly had Phillip to consider. Pooling together what resources they had, they were able to afford the decrepit hovel they now called home for the foreseeable future. He imagined once the circus was built it would take at least another year, maybe two, before they broke even and started generating a proper profit for themselves. At least Charity and the girls, as much as his failings as a husband and father pained him, had the aegis of the senior Hallets to provide for them where he could not.

It wasn’t the worst Phineas had experienced in his lifetime, but it was still a blow to be reduced back to carefully rationed meals and frugal living to make ends meet. He’d hoped it was a lifestyle he had left long behind on the unforgiving streets and during his laborious years on the railway – but he was not so delusional to think it was anything but his own negligence that saw him come full circle; plummeting from grace with only the bitter sting of humility to comfort him as he landed.

No. That wasn’t right. He had Phillip.

He supposed what truly pained him was that it was Phillip who struggled the most, the man he’d dragged down into an uncharted freefall with him. Even though he didn’t voice it, Phineas could see how their poverty weighed on him. He was a man who came from wealth and luxury, and while he’d given up his claim and inheritance for the circus, he’d still retained much of that comfort. Now he’d been stripped down to the scant provisions society was begrudged to provide them, and every day he witnessed the effort it took for Phillip to paste on that bright-eyed smile that had come so easily before the fire.  

“Hey.”

Phineas jerks at the soft voice; he hadn’t heard Phillip come back. The younger man sets down the tin basin close to the fireplace, the orange light reflected in the water. The basin, more like a large bucket, was old, and far too small for either man to properly stand in, let alone bathe.

Taking the silent cue, Phineas gets to his feet, sliding off his shoes and pushing his suspenders from his shoulders. He unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves before working on his shirt buttons. He does it all automatically, his thoughts once again miles away until he feels hands cup his own. Blinking, Phineas comes back to find Phillip standing in front of him, naked and goosefleshed from the cold, gently pulling Phineas’ hands away from where they had stalled halfway down his shirt.

“You’re getting lost quite a bit this evening,” Phillip observes, assisting the ringmaster by slipping the remaining buttons free with dexterous fingers.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

Phillip holds his gaze and something poignant passes between them, something that told Barnum their words extended beyond his internal meanderings. The ringmaster smiles with a soft huff of amusement, gratitude blossoming in his chest as he cups Phillip’s jaw and brushes his thumb across his cheek. The moment swells between them, and Barnum’s hand guides Phillip as the younger man leans in.

Their lips come together in a chaste kiss – sweet and familiar. Barnum smiles easier, and feels a fraction lighter when he sees Phillip do the same. He brings their foreheads together, breathing deeply at the contentment he feels as they share the same air between them. Perhaps it had not been what either of them had expected to bloom when they had taken up such close quarters with one another in this mephitic environment, but it united them, comforted them.

“Come on, s’cold,” Phillip breaks the quiet, the slightest tremor in his voice. Barnum’s eyes soften and he rubs his hands down the man’s arms in sympathy. He shrugs off his shirt with Phillip’s help, hangs it on the back of the chair, and shucks his trousers and underwear as Phillip steps away towards the basin.

He follows him closer to the fireplace, the heat meagre but welcome. He accepts the dripping-wet cloth Phillip hands him, and pulls a face as the unpleasantly icy water trickles down his forearm. Standing in front of him with an amused smile, Phillip reaches up to cup Phineas’ nape with a warm palm as his other hand brings his own cloth to Phineas’ collarbone. Barnum exhales a sharp breath as the biting cold flannel presses to his skin, sweeping over his shoulder and down his chest, leaving a beading wet sheen in its wake.

Once the initial shock passes Phineas imitates the action, placing a kiss on Phillip’s brow, near the barely-there scar on his temple, and pressing his cloth to the man’s ribs.  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Phillip hisses, his entire body shuddering from the chill.

Beyond Phineas’ quiet laughter, they don’t say anything more as they get immersed in their task, brushing away the sweat and grime of the day and sharing soft kisses in between. They wash under and along each other’s arms, over their shoulder and chests, and down to their hips. Phineas’ fingers trail over the ridges of Phillip’s ribs, and Phillip responds by pressing a kiss to Phineas’ defined collarbone. The work is slow and thorough, sensual in the way their noses brush and they regard each other with unwavering affection - nurturing an intimacy conceived in their misfortune.  
  
Phineas rinses his cloth in the bucket and stoops down to wash Phillip’s legs; in return Phillip runs wet hands through Phineas’ hair, working away the tangles and grease, regarding the older man with a breathless tenderness. Then Phillip catches sight of the pail, the firelight playing on the water’s surface, and his eyes glint with mischief. With Barnum’s attention consumed by his calves, his touch familiar and sure, Phillip reaches down, scoops the frigid water into his palm, and promptly splashes it over Phineas’ back.

“ _Holy_ –” the man jumps up and Phillip is helpless with laughter, the sound ringing out and filling the room with light. Barnum can’t even be mildly irritated with the man as he struggles to taper down his own exhilarated grin. “Come here,” Phineas growls playfully, reeling Phillip in against his front, beaming down into luminous blue eyes that shine with mirth. “That was positively cruel,” Barnum admonishes, and Phillip flashes teeth as he grins.

“When opportunity kno-” Phillip’s smug line is cut short with a muffled sound as Barnum smothers his face with the cloth.

Phineas smirks. “Well, it didn’t quite wipe that smile off your face, but you’re certainly cleaner,” he teases, brushing the cloth more gently over Phillip’s temple and down his cheek, placing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. Phillip huffs out a laugh, pushing Barnum’s hand away so he can wrap his arms around the taller man. With no hesitation Phineas returns the embrace, resting his head over Phillip’s with a deep, contented sigh as they sweep their cloths over each other’s backs in long tranquil strokes. Time seems to sway and still around them, letting them lull in this moment of unspoken sanctity, but even time could not offset the failings of their home, and the room soon grew bitterly cold.

Both shivering fiercely, Phillip hisses out a breath and presses himself tight to Phineas’ chest as the older man finishes rinsing Phillip’s hair, running his fingers through the brunet locks now falling free from their usual style.

Giving his own face a quick scrub, Phineas tosses both scraps of cloth into the bucket, water splashing over the rim, and retrieves the single worn towel off the mantel. It’s near threadbare, but soft and more than suitable for the task as he roughly rubs Phillip down until his skin no longer shines with moisture, ignoring Phillip’s quiet tuts that he is more than capable of drying himself. Phineas is gracious enough not to point out that Phillip doesn’t seem inclined to stop him, despite his complaints.

“Go get dressed and warm up the bed,” Barnum murmurs, shooing the shivering man away as he quickly wipes himself down next with the sodden towel. Throwing it over the chair in the hopes it will dry, Barnum crosses the room to pull on his nightshirt and loose fitting trousers, the cotton garments perhaps the most self-indulgent item left to his name. Phillip is already in the paltry excuse of a bed when he makes his way over, pulling the thin cover back as he slips in beside him.

Cuddling close together so they both fit in the narrow space, Barnum tucks the slighter man into his chest, rubbing his hands up and down Phillip’s arms and back until his shivering subsides. He presses soft kisses to the damp locks of hair, then to his parted lips when Phillip tilts his head back to meet him.

Finally separating from their slow, languid kiss, they rest their heads on the worn pillow, barely an inch between them.  
  
“New day tomorrow,” Phillip breathes with a wry smile. Phineas chuckles as he brings his hand to the man’s cheek, regarding Phillip with such incredible fondness it feels like a physical weight on his chest.  
  
“A better day tomorrow,” Phineas promises. “Go to sleep.”

Already heavy with fatigue, Phillip doesn’t need further encouragement to close his eyes. Within minutes his breathing has evened out and his face has softened with slumber.

Phineas takes a moment to watch his partner, the signs of their impoverished situation - the sooty walls, the meagre dying fire, the cracked windows and decaying foundations - all falling away. He presses a final lingering kiss to Phillip’s brow before tucking the man’s head under his chin. His body softens, edging towards sweet oblivion with the cadence of Phillip’s breaths easing the way, finally stealing a few hours sleep before dawn crept over the horizon and brought the new day with it.  


End file.
